


Whiskey, Sex, And Rock 'n' Roll

by watanuki_sama



Series: Shards Of Quantum Glass [3]
Category: Common Law (TV)
Genre: M/M, Travis is a bit of a man-whore, band au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-03 23:27:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14007165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watanuki_sama/pseuds/watanuki_sama
Summary: It would be a lot easier for them to keep a lead singer if Travis didn’t sleep with every one that came along.





	Whiskey, Sex, And Rock 'n' Roll

**Author's Note:**

> Also posted on FF.net under the penname 'EFAW' on 03.17.18.
> 
>  
> 
> PROMPT: Band

_“Music is a safe kind of high.”_  
_—Jimi Hendrix_

\---

The door to the prep room slams open, and a familiar voice shouts, “God _dammit_ , Travis!”

Travis opens one eye, peering at his friend. “What’s up, man?”

“What’s up?” Paekman looks apoplectic as he stomps over. “What’s up is that Ellen just quit because _you_ can’t keep it in your pants!”

Across the room, Kendall sighs. “Again?” the same time that Travis sits up going, “Not my fault!”

“Not your fault?” Paekman scoffs. “Travis, this is the third singer we’ve gone through in a month! You keep this up, we won’t _have_ a band!”

Travis scowls at the guitarist, crossing his arms. “Okay, Randi wasn’t my fault. She went off to better things.”

“And Ellen and Jonelle?” Paekman shoots back.

Travis coughs a little. “Yeah, okay, those might have been my fault. They’re just so pretty, man!”

“And that,” the other man says through gritted teeth, “is what fans are for.”

“What do we even need a singer for?” Travis asks, hands out. “We rock all on our own.”

“We can carry a chorus,” Kendall pipes up, doing magic on her synthesizer, “but none of us are great. Travis, we need a singer.”

Travis scoffs, picking up his drumsticks. “You’ll see. We’ll get by. ‘Cuz we’re that awesome.”

\---

Five hours later, Travis swallows half a bottle of water, wincing at his bandmates’ stares. “Okay. Maybe you have a point. We need a singer.”

\---

Auditions last for one day in Paekman’s garage. Dozens of lovely women with anywhere from mediocre to fantastic voices show up.

Over pizza and beer afterwards, they finally narrow it down to their top three.

“I have a good feeling about this, man,” Travis says, leaning back with a grin.

Paekman shoots him a dark look. “I’d have a better feeling about this if I thought you could control yourself.”

“Hey, I’ll be good.” Travis holds up his hand. “Promise.”

The guitarist just eyes him suspiciously. “We’ll see.”

\---

Three gigs and three singers later, Paekman drops his head in his hands and laughs helplessly. “My god, you are such a whore.”

“What can I say?” Travis says with only a dash of remorse. “I love beautiful ladies who can sing.”

Paekman scrubs his hands through his hair. “This isn’t working. We need another plan.”

Across the room, Kendall says, “Um.”

Both men’s heads swivel to her.

She shifts. “Does our singer _have_ to be female?”

Travis and Paekman exchange looks. “All of our songs could easily be modified for a guy,” Travis offers.

“And there’s half a chance you won’t sleep with a man,” Paekman counters. He turns back to Kendall. “You have someone in mind?”

She shrugs. “I might. I have to ask him, but…yeah, he might do it.”

“Okay.” Paekman nods. “Okay, see if he’ll do it. I’ll take anything at this point.”

\---

“Guys, this is Wes Mitchell.”

When Kendall said she had someone in mind, Travis figured she knew someone who could, like, _rock_. Not… _Wes_ , in his pristine suit with ironed creases and his perfectly slicked-back hair and the pinchy, uptight twist to his lips.

Kendall smiles, waving her hand. “And Wes, these guys are the other members of the band. Travis Marks, our drummer, and David Paek, our guitarist.”

Cold blue eyes rake over them, and Travis is definitely feeling judged.

“Call me Paekman,” Paekman declares, shaking Wes’s hand. “You can sing?”

The blonde shrugs. “I like to think so.” Behind his back, Kendall nods vigorously and gives them two thumbs up.

“Good enough for me. Thanks for coming on such short notice.” Paekman grabs a piece of paper from the side table. “Tonight we’re just doing covers, nothing original. Here’s our set list, you think you can handle it?”

Wes scans the list, nodding slightly. “I can sing these.”

“Perfect.” Paekman claps him on the shoulder, grinning. “Welcome to the band. Kendall, go rock him up. Travis, help me set up.”

The door has barely closed behind them when Paekman slings his arm around Travis’s shoulder and says, still grinning cheerfully, “You sleep with him and I’ll beat you so bad your birth mom will feel it.”

Travis snorts, thinking back to the prissy blonde in his prissy suit. “Man, totally not a problem.”

\---

Kendall and Wes walking out right before the start of the set, and Travis goes from _not a problem_ to _this could be a problem_.

Rocking Wes up apparently means sexing him up. Kendall mussed up his hair, and now it looks like he just rolled out of bed after having wild sex all night long. Kendall did magic with her makeup, something dark and smokey around Wes’s eyes that make the blue _pop_ , hot damn. The top two buttons of his shirt have been unbuttoned, showing off the freckles on his neck; his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and he looks like a skinny beanpole but _wow_ he’s got a nice pair of forearms. Travis has never thought forearms could be sexy.

Wes takes his spot in front of the microphone, and Travis has a _very_ nice view of his backside. _Damn_ , those suit pants are cut nice, hugging all Wes’s curves and lines.

_No big deal_ , Travis tells himself, shifting in his seat. _So he pretties up nice. Doesn’t mean a thing._

And then Wes opens his mouth and sings.

Wes’s voice is like sex on the floor, a little rough, smooth like top-shelf whiskey, promising nothing and everything. It’s heat and need and all the passion in the world, and it goes straight from Travis’s ears to his groin.

He flubs a beat. Wes keeps singing, but Paekman shoots him a warning look.

Travis collects himself, but apparently he doesn’t like just beautiful _ladies_ who can sing.

This is _definitely_ going to be a problem.

\---

Paekman grabs his arm after the set, scowling something fierce. “Don’t even _think_ about it,” he hisses.

Travis shrugs out of his friend’s grip. “I _know_ , man. Geez. I’m not _that_ depraved.”

Wes is the best singer they’ve had since Randi left. He’s not going to jeopardize the band because of his stupid libido.

But, he thinks, as Wes comes out, prim and proper in his suit but with his hair still all mussed up. But _damn_ does he want to.

\---

It’s a tradition to end Friday night gigs with pizza and a pitcher of beer. They order a meat-lovers’ and an everything, then settle back with their mugs.

“So tell me,” Travis says, “How did Kendall find a gem like you? And why weren’t you snatched up a long time ago?”

“Wes does Tuesday night karaoke at the bar near my house,” Kendall explains, sipping her beer. “I used to go in and listen to him.”

“Karaoke?” Paekman and Travis chorus with identical grins.

“It’s a good way to de-stress,” Wes says, blushing slightly. “I never thought anyone was listening that closely.”

“Anyone who’s not listening isn’t paying attention,” Travis says, and Paekman and Kendall raise their mugs to that.

The pizza arrives. Wes eats his with a fork and knife; Travis thinks that’s hilariously adorable. And that’s when he thinks maybe he’s still being influenced by Wes’s sexy singing voice, because he’s never thought of the other singers he’s been attracted to as _adorable_.

“So,” he says quickly to cover it up, “what do you do in the real world?”

“I’m a lawyer,” Wes says, getting another slice of everything without touching it at all.

“Explains the suit,” Paekman chirps.

“And the need to de-stress,” Kendall adds.

The corner of Wes’s mouth twitches up. “What do you all do?”

“Computer programmer,” Kendall says.

“Real estate,” Paekman says with a grimace.

“Mechanic,” Travis adds last. “So you can see why we decided to form a band.”

Wes lifts his eyebrows in acknowledgement.

“Speaking of,” Paekman says, suddenly in ‘Leader of the Band’ mode. He leans forward. “We have a fairly steady gig at the bar Thursday and Friday nights, and we try to get together two other days to practice. We need a singer, so if you’re interested…?”

There’s something like muted surprise on Wes’s face. “You really want me to join?”

“Dude, you were _awesome_ ,” Travis declares. “Your voice is like whiskey and sex. You know how amazing we were tonight?”

Paekman kicks him under the table, but Kendall smirks and says, “Told you,” and Wes flushes.

The blonde laughs a little. “I, um, I wouldn’t have put it quite like that, but…uh, sure. I don’t mind joining.”

Three identical grins sprout. “Awesome.” Paekman raises his mug; Kendall and Travis follow suit. “Welcome to the band, man.”

Wes smiles with one side of his mouth and brings their mugs together.

\---

The problem isn’t just that Wes’s voice is sexy as sin. The problem is that Wes is a genuinely interesting person. He’s a little stiff, but he’s funny. When he smiles he lights up the room, and when he laughs, it’s a glorious music. He’s got all these weird quirks that only make Travis more interested. And his wit is rapier-sharp.

And every time he sings, things move in Travis’s soul and he’s genuinely touched.

He’s quickly moving past ‘falling in lust’ and into simply ‘falling’, and that is a _major_ problem.

“Don’t you dare,” Paekman says after every practice session, Travis’s eyes following the blonde as he leaves.

“I _know_ , man, I know. I won’t go there.” Wes is off-limits if he wants to keep the band together. And more than the thought of sex is the rush he gets when they’re performing, exhilaration and passion pumping through his veins, better than any drug.

Wes is a no-fly zone. Travis knows that.

But it’s getting harder and harder to keep his hands to himself.

\---

He lasts two months. Eight weeks of practice and performance and watching Wes’s hips move in those pants that hug every curve and Travis can’t take it anymore.

He waits until Paekman’s driven off before sidling up to Wes and ask, “Can I get a ride? Paekman left without me and my drums are a pain in the ass to carry on the bus.”

(More like he sent Paekman away by saying one of his foster brothers was here. Which, okay, his foster brother _was_ here but he wasn’t sticking around to give Travis a ride. Paekman gave him a dark scowl and a threatening finger, but believed the omission.)

Wes stares at him like he can see right through the ruse, but he just quirks his lips and says, “Sure.”

They don’t say anything on the ride, but sexual tension crackles between them and Travis has to fight to keep from saying something stupid.

Wes helps carry his drums in. “You live in a trailer in a warehouse?” he asks, eyebrows going up. “How very…serial killer of you.”

“How very _rock star_ ,” Travis corrects, which earns him a slow grin. He dumps his stuff by the front door and swallows. “Do you want a drink?”

It’s a blatant invitation, and Wes has every opportunity to say no. But he stares at Travis with bottomless eyes and nods, just once.

They don’t drink. Soon as they’re inside they’re on each other, hands pulling clothes off and mouths smashing together. They stumble to the bedroom, bumping hips and elbows into the walls without noticing, and fall onto the mattress with a grunt.

“They warned me about you,” Wes gasps, breaking for air. “Paekman told me about what happened to your last singers. Kendall says you’re cursed.”

“She would,” Travis grumbles, licking a stripe down Wes’s neck. “Do you want to stop?”

“God, no,” Wes groans, pulling him in for another kiss.

\---

It’s passion and fire, energy and desire. It’s whiskey sliding down his throat and rock and roll falling off guitar strings.

They come together, and they make music.

\---

Wes is gone when Travis wakes up. He didn’t even leave a note.

And he stole Travis’s leather jacket.

Travis tries not to be disappointed.

\---

He tries calling Wes at lunch, just to say hi. The phone rings and rings and goes straight to voice mail.

Travis bites his lip and tries again.

Voice mail.

He waits ten minutes, pacing the length of his trailer again and again, then tries one more time. 

Straight to voice mail.

Travis chucks his phone on his bed and runs his hands through his hair. “Shit.”

Paekman is going to _kill_ him.

\---

“Dammit, Travis.” Paekman laughs, bitter and resigned. “I told you. I _told_ you to leave him alone.”

Ten minutes till they go on, and Wes still isn’t here. Travis isn’t sure if the hurt in his chest is for the band or for himself.

Kendall sighs, pulling her phone from her ear. “He’s still not picking up.” She shoots Travis a dirty look. “It’s Jonelle all over again.”

“I’m sorry.” Travis never thought he’d apologize for this, but he _is_ sorry. “I fucked up.”

“You _think?”_ Paekman’s glare is venomous. “I _told_ you, man.”

All Travis can do is look at his shoes. “I’m sorry.”

Paekman groans, rising to his feet. “Kendall, try him again. We’ve got…seven minutes until we’re on. I’ll go see if he’s out there avoiding you.”

Travis stares the floor, fingers tightening in his jeans. “He stole my jacket.”

“You can get another jacket, Travis,” Paekman snaps. “I’m more worried about finding another singer.” He yanks open the door and almost collides with Wes.

All three of the stare.

“Sorry I’m late,” Wes says, lips quirking. “Court ran late and then my phone battery died. I got here as quickly as I could.”

They continue to stare.

“What?” Wes looks down at himself. “Oh, it’s the outfit, isn’t it? I tried to, uh, rock myself up, but…it didn’t work, did it? I look stupid.”

For the first time, Travis actually looks at the other man. Wes is wearing Travis’s leather jacket over a dark grey Henley that teases peeks of his collarbone, and dark wash blue jeans that are just as deliciously form-fitting as his suit pants. His hair looks like he spread gel on his hands and ruffled his hair, but it’s good. 

“Sorry,” Wes is assaying to Kendall, “I know you usually do it, but I wanted to try it myself. There’s no time to change, is there? I can…” He brings his hand up to flatten his hair, and Travis finally finds his voice.

“No.” When Wes pauses, Travis climbs to his feet. “No, uh…you look fine. Good. You look really good.” He moves across the room, touching Wes like he’s not quite certain he’s real. “I…um, I’m glad you’re here.”

Nothing but confusion on Wes’s face. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because I…we…”

Understanding dawns, and the blonde smirks. “Fun fact. I don’t believe in curses.”

Travis runs his hands down Wes’s arms and thinks his jacket has never looked so good. “You didn’t leave a note or anything, so I thought…”

Wes’s brow furrows. “I had to be in court at seven, so I had to leave early. Travis, I _told_ you that.”

“No,” Travis laughs, “no, I’m pretty sure you didn’t.”

Wes stares at him, eyes bright and so very blue, and a charge flies between them.

Then Paekman claps them both on the shoulder. “Wes, glad you’re here. Travis, you can hash this out later. We’ve got to be on stage in two minutes, so let’s go guys.”

Kendall and Paekman head out, and Travis smiles at Wes.

“I’m glad you came back.”

Wes smiles, low and seductive, and sparks shoot all the way down Travis’s spine. “Maybe you can show me how glad after the show,” he purrs, and oh god, it’s _that voice_ , whiskey and sex and rock and roll sliding over his skin like velvet.

Wes leans in, lips just barely brushing Travis’s, breaths passing between them like promises.

Then he pulls back and tosses Travis a flirty wink. “We’re on.” He strides out, jeans pulling in all the right places, and Travis has to adjust his own pants.

“Damn sneaky bastard,” he chuckles, shaking his head, and he follows his band into the lights.

Whiskey and sex and rock and roll; better than any drug in the world.


End file.
